


shared oxygen

by orphan_account



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Choking, Gags, M/M, Minnesota, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's a good boy, Lester."</p>
            </blockquote>





	shared oxygen

            The hand clamped around Lester’s neck tightens instinctively, not tight enough to cut off air, but enough to give that little bit of a thrill that he needs. There is a quickly fashioned gag in his mouth, a tie. His wife bought him this tie. The fabric does poorly to hold back his sounds; desperate whimpers escaping the wide gape of his mouth, only barely muffled.

            “You look so good like this,” passed from mouth to silk, the words grumbled, strained. The approval is met with a deep whine from the back of Lester’s throat. “Bet you want to speak, don’t you?” There’s a low chuckle. “Bet you can’t even stop talking when you’re like this.” The words are slurred but there’s no scent of alcohol, just faint arousal and desperation. The hand around his throat tightens enough to stop the flow of oxygen, the room suddenly filled with urgent intakes of air through his nose and nothing else. Their hips have stilled and Lester is terrified for a moment. Considering maybe that the bond he’s formed with this man- this murderer- has all been leading up to this point, his vision whiting out, the last breath of air before—

            And the hand is removed, the gag taken out from his mouth and all of a sudden it feels like Lester can’t get _enough_ air, after being deprived. “Jesus,” he gasps, and it doesn’t even sound like a word.

            He gets that moment of peace before long callused fingers are thrust into his mouth, like they’re searching for something and Lester almost asks, but then the man says, “Suck.” And it’s glaringly obvious, so he closes his mouth and tries to do as he’s told. The other hand reaches down the fly of his pants and works out the button and the zipper. The fingers are slipped out of his mouth for the moment, that hand joining the other one at his waist to slip down his pants and his boxers at once, his insistent erection greeting the frigid air, a shiver running down his spine.

            Lester chuckles, “Jeez.” The man looks up at him, annoyed. Lester closes his mouth, terrified and yet strongly aroused by the glare of dark eyes, thinning hair falling over a forehead that’s covered in a light sheen of sweat. The hand that was initially wrapped around his throat wraps around his prick, the modest length thickening, pre-ejaculate beading at the tip. An embarrassing groan slips out from his mouth.

            The eyes above his tilt up from where they were looking at his erection, meeting his, a smirk forming on the lips. “Oh no, Lester. Don’t by any means hold back.” And the hand around him begins moving with a pace that leaves Lester wondering if he’ll last even five minutes, the movements so frantic that he doesn’t register the click of a tube opening and closing until there’s a finger knuckle deep instead of him. His hips arch and he can feel himself edging, but he doesn’t come. Two fingers are wrapped tight around his base, holding back his impending orgasm and gasps travel from his mouth into the air surrounding them.

            The single digit inside of him pumps in and out, excruciatingly slowly. The sensation is strange but Lester still finds himself rearing down against the finger, searching for more where he isn’t sure he’ll find anything. The snap of the tube sounds again and another finger squeezes in alongside the first, a slick burn and a low groan. Lester is vaguely aware that it’s coming from him. He isn’t asked if he’s okay, is not waited on to adjust. The fingers slide back and forth, and as wonderful as it feels being the center of attention, there’s no pleasure in this until the fingers crook to the side, rubbing lightly yet relentlessly against a spot that Lester didn’t even know existed and the fingers disappear from the base of his cock ( _oh god, oh god._ ) and he’s thrusting aimlessly into the air, pulses of ejaculate covering his stomach.

            Somewhere in the back of his head he hears the slide of a zipper and the sound of skin on skin before there’s a grunt and a splash on his stomach. He opens his eyes, which he didn’t know were closed, and is greeted by a sly grin.

            “That’s a good boy, Lester.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> vaguely ashamed of being the first legitimately-- and still not even legitimately because it's not directly stated-- lester/lorne centered fanfiction in the fx fargo fandom. also this is really short and i wrote it 30 minutes after the third episode aired. but hey. whatever. follow me at http://gusgrimly.tumblr.com for tears and blood.


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